


Honeydukes Horror

by hes5thlazarus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bullying, Canon Compliant, Gaslighting, Gen, Hogwarts Third Year, Honeydukes, Missing Scene, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29598363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hes5thlazarus/pseuds/hes5thlazarus
Summary: Remus Lupin genially humiliates Severus Snape as he attempts to order chocolates. Some schoolboy grudges never get better, and nothing Severus can say will let him seem the better man.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Honeydukes Horror

Severus often wished that Dumbledore would choke on those Merlin-be-damned lemon drops. Still, because he asks, he trudges out to Hogsmeade in the snow, even though it is a student weekend, even though the dementors are afoot. Occluding turns the snow starkly white and the naked trees black as the starlit night, and Severus finds himself enjoying the walk as he wicks away any thought of the dementors, the escaped prisoner, the Shrieking Shack. The emptiness of his mind is as full as a film still. He walks, and does not think, and lets himself perceive.   
  
Color leaks into the frame as he reaches Hogsmeade, but he is prepared for that, and slowly loosens his control to let the giddier meanings seep through. Despite the chill, people throng the streets, enjoying the window displays, and he looks at the gold and the red and the holly-green of what-can-be-bought proudly, because he can buy things. Severus meanders into Scrivenshaft’s first and sucks in the wonderful wooden smell of parchment, high quality vellum, clean papyrus, and that wet ink. He acquires a silver nib with a death’s head delicately etched upon it, and though the shopkeep raises an eyebrow, he smirks. He has a reputation to protect, after all--reformed Death Eater or no, he likes skulls. And perhaps he will get to stab Lupin one day: he can only hope.   
  
He slips the nib in its black velvet box into his pocket and fingers it as he heads to Honeydukes. He likes things and he likes having things. He likes touching things and acquiring them and arranging them aesthetically amongst his endlessly heavy shelves of books, so when he scans them eagerly, looking for a volume whose placement he has forgotten, he is always surprised at the plenty. Charity teases him for his “knick-knacks,” Kingsley for his “tchotkes,” but Severus ignores them rather than snapping back, not because he loves them--he doesn’t--but because he loves his things. This silver nib reminds me of something Lucius had, when they were young--didn’t he let him write with some ridiculous peacock quill with a silver nib inscribed with the Dark Mark? Youth: Severus smiles thinly, perusing the chocolate display. He does enjoy a certain level of confident flamboyance, he must admit, though he wouldn’t be caught dead with a peacock quill--or in a fucking vulture hat. Angry, he grips the box a little too tight in his pocket.   
  
Occlude, man, he thinks: and he lets the browns of the chocolate display leech away into blacks and grays. Austerity becomes him.   
  
“May I help you, Professor Snape?” The shop assistant approaches. Severus turns, face carved into its natural scowl. The assistant, a chocolatier-in-training, class of ‘88, Ravenclaw, does not blink. “I know you dislike white chocolate, but we have a new bonbon with an aged balsamic vinegar that counteracts the sweetness nicely.” He is intrigued, though he vehemently dislikes white chocolate, and the assistant hides a smile as they produce a sample. Severus tastes it and it is sublime. The acid taste of the balsamic cuts right through the cloying sweetness of the white chocolate, and he closes his eyes for a moment to enjoy it properly. The bell over the door chimes as another patron enters the shop. Severus ignores it and tells the chocolatier he will add the balsamic to his usual order.   
  
“And the Headmaster’s lemon drops, if you would,” he says.   
  
A man chuckles--Lupin, the wolf. Severus freezes. “This month’s errand boy, I see,” Lupin grins faux-amicably. There is a hard light in his yellow eyes. Severus bristles. He resents the appellation.   
  
“Stocking up on your palliative, Lupin?” he sneers. “Such a shame it negates the effects of your usual medicine.” It is not fair that chocolate, which is so poisonous to dogs, is anodyne to werewolves. Furtively Severus checks to see where Lupin is looking. Most tranquilizers contradict the effects of Wolfsbane, but he can surely slip something in, just in case. Honeydukes owes him a favor. Honeydukes does not need to know.   
  
Lupin smiles without showing his teeth. The assistant chocolatier looks at them curiously, and backs away to assemble his order.    
  
The wolf says mildly, “I never knew you had such a sweet tooth, Severus.” Severus’ fists clench, he has no right to call him by his name, not when he would so happily call him by that other name. He is confronted with the perennial issue: engage with the wolf, and open himself to mockery, or ignore him, and have to listen to him rambling. Lupin grins. “Your time at Hogwarts has sweetened you!”   
  
The assistant coughs suddenly, clearly covering up a laugh. Suddenly Lupin is all concern. “Do you need a lozenge?” he asks. He pats his pockets absentmindedly. “Though I suppose Severus can brew you up a Pepper-Up quick!”   
  
“Indeed,” Severus manages. He is seething. “My order, Montgomery.” That is their name, isn’t it: if he forgot it, he hopes the chocolatier takes it as the insult that it is meant. “Do watch where you spit. We wouldn’t want the flu to start with Honeydukes at its center, would we.” He means it as a threat. He does not know how he would enforce it, but he can come up with a few viral curses easily.   
  
“Terrible for business,” Lupin agrees, smiling. “Just terrible.” He reaches for the assistant and pats them on the back kindly. “Are you alright?” Fully within Severus’ view, he winks at them, and the assistant covers up a smile.   
  
“Oh, fine, sorry, Professor Lupin.” Then they catch sight of Severus’ face and flinch. “I’ll just be getting your order then, Professor Snape.”   
  
Severus is afraid to speak. He is afraid of whatever Lupin will twist his words into, and to his horror, he can feel a sneeze building. He is afraid to sniff--to snivel, as Snivellus always did. He holds his breath and restrains it. Lupin watches him with undisguised amusement.   
  
“Do you need a handkerchief?” Lupin asks. “You look like you’re about to sneeze.”   
  
Fuck off, Severus thinks. He sniffs imperiously, and Lupin again exchanges an amused glance with the assistant. Severus snatches the package out of the assistant’s hands, who is taken aback. He is not like this, he is not, he likes Honeydukes, when it is empty of students at least, but he is too rattled and angry and ashamed and humiliated as he beats his way back onto the cold streets like a bat out of hell, cloak billowing imperiously behind him, and what makes it all worse is that he knows Lupin is staring back at him, faux-concerned, and then turning to the assistant as he always did, and checking to see what effect he has made, and he hears him as the door shuts: “I suppose he hasn’t sweetened as much as I hoped.”


End file.
